EM:Meetings
by MiaulinK
Summary: Scott is all alone on a winter night, lost in the darkness. He meets a young boy. Pre-Hindsight. First Wolverine and the X-men/Danny Phantom crossover out there!


Meetings

Scott stumbled through the night. The night was in more than just the outside, though. He must not, _must not_ open his eyes. To open them would be to harm anyone he looked at. The night was within him, as well. He was alone.

Alone.

The word held realms of meaning for him, and the emptiness caused by Jean's death-No! She was still alive. She _must_ still be alive. Scott must not allow himself to think she might be dead. It was cold, cold here, and cold without her. His sole wish was for her safety. He needed her, but the universe wouldn't let him have her.

A frigid blast of particularly cold weather hit him with a fury that dragged him into the present, and into the real necessity for now. He had to get home. To his shabby apartment that looked like a dump. Jean would have never let him live in that condition. It wasn't really much of a home; he just called it that for lack of a better name. He hadn't had a real home in almost a year. Not since Jean's disappearance. Maybe longer, since the Professor dragged Wolverine in from the outer world. He shook his head, and turned right, hoping he was still heading in the direction of his house. A moment or two later, the screech of a car's wheels told him he was in the street. The car was close, but he didn't know where exactly it was. He had no idea as to where he should run. He moved as fast as he could, forward. The screaming brakes hadn't stopped. He had barely gone three running steps before he felt a blow to the side, hard. The car brakes were still screeching as he felt himself hit the pavement. He rolled with the impact slightly, years of training with the X-family going into the motion. He grimaced slightly, aches all over reminding him of the lack of training he had had over the time he'd been away.

Someone groaned next to him for a moment before he heard the snow shift slightly, and crunch beneath the person's feet. For a second he had trouble believing he had not been hit, before he heard a sharp voice yell at him.

"What were you thinking, going into the street like that? You could have gotten yourself killed, Mister. Look where you're going before I get myself smashed via car if you pull something like that again. Who are you, anyway?" It was a young voice, maybe a teen, assessed Scott, who was still busy fighting the adrenaline rush from the incident.

He responded after a few seconds, slowly. "I...I didn't see the road..."

"No kidding. You had your eyes closed, idiot. Open your eyes." The voice didn't give him time to finish responding. "And why on earth are you wandering around in -20 degree weather without anything more than a coat?" The voice sounded like it was thinking of several other things he could say, probably consisting of a variety of curse words.

"I can't." Scott started to rise, feeling himself over for broken bones.

"Can't what?"

"Open my eyes. And I was going home." Scott was on his feet at this point.

"Of course you can open your eyes. And how did you expect to get home without using them?" The voice was berating.

"Eye condition. I was wearing sunglasses, but they fell off. I can't see without them, and opening my eyes could harm them." Scott paused just before he constructed a lie. He supposed it would work. "Can you take me to a police station so I can get home?"

"I'll take you home. Where do you live?"

"How am I supposed to trust a stranger? I don't even know your name." Scott pointed out.

"I'm...Derrick." The voice told him. "Derrick DeLong. Yours?"

Scott noticed the pause in front of the name, but didn't comment. He supposed a fake name might be best. "I'm Alex Warden." He decided the name would work. Just for now. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about taking me?"

"Absolutely. Can't leave you to the police. And about not trusting me? I seem to remember shoving you out of the way of a car."

"Sorry."

The car had went on, and Scott supposed the driver couldn't see them anymore. He had been wearing an off-white coat, anyway.

"Where do you live?"

"1684 Cypress St., New York." The irony had not escaped Scott. He lived on Cypress Street, in a city, in possibly the least-planted area. It was about as fitting as if Cypress Street were on the moon.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do." Derrick said. He got up, and gripped Scott's hand, telling him to hold on, and that if he dared let go, Derrick would throw him into the Hudson River. Scott shivered slightly at the thought. They walked, for how long Scott didn't know.

As they walked, Derrick managed to talk almost constantly. His attempts to keep conversation going were left unheard. Derrick and Scott, or rather Alex, finally stopped at a store. Derrick picked up a map and gave Alex time to warm up for a few minutes. Reluctantly, the duo ventured out into the cold once more, traveling slowly, bent against the wind that had increased in strength, and in snowflakes.

Derrick finally came to a halt outside an area almost blocked from the wind. It was amazingly warm if you took away the wind in the winter.

"Here we are. 1684 Cypress Street. Got the keys?"

Alex reached into his pocket, and found the keys after a moment. They were warm from being so close to his skin. He handed them to Derrick silently and heard the doorknob squeak as Derrick twisted the key inside the lock. Another creak took its place as the door opened.

"You really need to oil your door, Alex." They stepped inside. "And you should consider heating your apartment." Alex could feel the cold and shivered. At least it was warmer than outside.

"Can...can you help me find my glasses, please?" Alex asked worriedly. He wasn't sure he could find them on his own.

"Okay. Where should they be?"

"In the drawers, probably. Or on the counter. Can you take me to a chair?"

Derrick led him to a chair, and began the search. It was nearly fifteen minutes before the sunglasses were found, and Alex carefully put them on. He slowly opened his eyes, and saw a young face, probably about fourteen. Based on the adjustments he'd made so he could imagine color, the boy's hair was black. His eyes were probably blue-ish.

"Thank you. Do you want any money?"

Derrick raised his hands and stated, "Nah. But you should consider supper. It is..." Derrick checked his watch, "Eight O'clock."

Alex paused, before rising and making his way across his room. He arrived at the kitchen, and searched his cabinets. He found enough bread to make a few sandwiches. Jean would have killed him for how often he had to eat them. "You can eat here for supper. I think there's enough."

The boy paused, before agreeing. He reluctantly fixed his sandwich, and Alex devoured his own. For nearly five minutes, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then, Scott broke the silence.

"Scott." The boy looked confused. "Scott Summers. My real name is Scott Summers."

The boy smiled slightly. "Danny. My name isn't really Derrick DeLong. Actually, Derrick is pretty far from my favorite name."

"Alex is the name of my brother. But minus the Warden."

"Ahhh...I guess we're even. I probably shouldn't have lied about my name."

"Well, what's your middle name? We aren't quite even yet. I've told you mine."

Der...Danny paused. "Top secret. I'll tell you-maybe-in time."

Scott snorted. "Thanks. For taking me, you know. How old are you, fourteen?"

Danny looked insulted. "I'm sixteen. How old are you?"

"Sorry. I'm twenty-three. But you look too young. Are you sure?"

Danny face-palmed. "Quite certain. At least, last time I checked, anyway."

"Okay. You barely look fourteen."

Danny groaned. "Sixteen. And I hate it when people think I'm younger. How close do I cut it?"

"You look about twelve, but I figured most people like it at your age if their age is over stated."

"I am not 'liking it' right now. But your sandwiches are good."

"Thanks. Anyway, they are certainly bearable."

The two of them kept up a steady conversation. Once or twice it came to a halt, but it was usually pretty fast. Danny finally decided it was time to leave at about ten, and Scott let him. The door closed behind them, and Scott smiled, forgetting Jean, just for the night.

 **I own nothing you recognize, or, if you've never watched Wolverine and the X-men, or Danny Phantom, I still own nothing. Read and review!**

 **-Miaulin**


End file.
